Pieces
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Drabbles regarding the thoughts of various characters. 2012 movie verse.
1. Anna

**Pieces**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Anna Karenina belongs to Leo Tolstoy and Joe Wright.

**Rating: **M for a scene of explicit content, K+ generally

**Summary: **Drabbles regarding the thoughts of various characters. 2012 movie verse.

**Author's Note:** The first chapter contains mature content. It's the only one, so I will not rate the whole story M. Still, skip it if you're not comfortable with that sort of thing.

* * *

_Anna _

She was afraid, the first time, she knew not why. Perhaps it was her hunger, her anxiety to finally fulfil what she had been trying to suppress for so long. She became like a virgin on her wedding night, fearing the pain, fearing that her blood would taint the sheets as proof of the sin she had embarked on. But she could not go back. No, fear was not enough to halt her, it did not have enough strength to frighten her into madness, at least not until everything was beyond salvation.

Being touched by him was like being underwater for too long. She gasped for breath. She was left wanting more. She could not get enough. The pain she feared and felt turned out to be something else entirely. Need. She felt it in every burning, throbbing fibre of her being. She saw it in his hazy eyes, recognized it in his feverish touch. Every thrust brought a pleasure that bordered on agony. For a moment, a moment of ecstasy and panic, she wanted him to stop. It was too much. She could not bear it. She would not make it out of this alive. Afterwards, it would be too late. But she would not allow him to stop, even if he wanted to; her body responded frantically to his with a knowledge she did not know she had or had forgotten she had. He gripped her waist, caressed her breasts. And she whimpered, encouraging him, wanting to die like this, if she must die at all.

He moaned and sunk against her, moist flesh against moist flesh, the shape of his fingernails embedded on her body as a reminder. She gasped; pleasure engulfed her so deeply, such a heavenly, utterly unknown sensation, she knew for sure she must die now, she must, for she could not bear it. But she survived. She resurfaced. The damage was done, the soul and the body turned inside out. She would bleed and destroy herself to feel this again. To have him by her side. Always. Less than that would never, could never be enough.


	2. Dolly

_Dolly _

She stared tenderly at the newborn baby inside the cot, his pale, delicate skin meshing with the snow white blankets. He was a soothing sight, an image of salvation amidst the ruins of her life. She had not imagined for a minute that this would be what the future had in store for her. She had fallen madly in love with Stiva, many years ago, it seemed, and he had been, if not just as taken with her, almost as much. He loved her, she knew it then, and it had been enough for her. She could not recognize the two youths of her memories in the two of them now. Even though she did not regret heeding to Anna's words and forgiving him – indeed, she did not think she would have been truly happy and at ease with herself if she had not – she knew things would never the same again. It was in his blood, in every man's blood. Stiva would do it again. He would break her heart again. But she was weary of suffering, and now, she must simply choose how much she would allow herself to be hurt, how much she should care. She must cling to all that was good in him and their life together and utterly ignore the rest. Give him no more reasons to see her tears, and further turn himself away from her.

Gently, Dolly scooped the baby up and cradled him in her arms. _This _was love – love was never meant to hurt, and for now, at least, her little boy would never hurt her, would never wish her away. She liked to think, as she stared down at his little face, that he would not turn out to be like other men. How could he, when he looked the very picture of innocence? No, surely it was impossible that his heart should ever be corrupted. She kissed his forehead, clinging to his warm, throbbing presence, dispelling the darkness of her days and filling them with light.

"You will be different_,_"she whispered, and her heart was lifted with the hope – the innocent defiance – with which she murmured those words to him. In secret. No one would ever know. "You will be good, little lamb. I know you will."


	3. Levin

_Levin_

He had never felt like this before – lost in a haze, in a magical sort of trance he did not know could exist. He had never thought he would ever be sucked into his feeling of wonder, of standing on the outside looking in, but, for the first time, feel happy with it. He had felt that way many times before, detached from the world, even when he attempted to get closer. He had felt it often, always at his expense. But not now. It helped him realize something he had foolishly overlooked.

He knew, for truly the first time, how much he had underestimated Kitty. The woman before him, on the other side of the door, helping bathing his brother, was unknown, had existed before but he had never seen her. He had always been blind to her. It was one of the greatest joys he had ever experienced, to realize he had been wrong. To know how pure and boundless Kitty's spirit was. To learn her once again. Was everyone else aware of this? Did they know how strong and kind Kitty was? Or did they still mistake her for a frail girl, the way he had? He knew now, that would be the most unpardonable of errors.

An angel of the earth. Those had not simply been lovesick words. They would never be. And Kitty continued on, calm and collected, unaware of his epiphany, unconscious of the enormity of what she was doing. Unconscious of his own awe. Did she feel the change too, did she feel any different now? No, of course not; this had always been there, inside her, waiting to unfold. She felt no different; she did not believe herself any special for it.

He wished he could watch her forever. That, one day, he would be able to find the words to describe how she had made him feel. But he knew he would never find them, or overcome his clumsiness enough to say them to her. If only, at least, she could feel how much she was loved.


	4. Kitty

_Kitty _

Butterflies fluttered in her belly as she stared at him from a distance. She blushed hotly, her gaffe caught, when he stared back at her, unflinching. The smallest of smiles graced his lips as he bowed his head at her. She fought back the urge to look away, still tremulous with embarrassment, and instead curtsied slightly. He looked away – the shadow of a smile still resting on his lips even as he begun a conversation with another gentleman.

No one had asked her or spoken directly to her about it, and if they had, she would not have known what to say. Deep in her heart, she could not make out her feelings. She just knew that he pleased her, and that it left her giddy and flattered to imagine herself waltzing into a room by Count Vrosnky's side, knowing she was his wife. He made her feel warm and alive, wanted in a way no one had ever managed. But she did not like to dwell on such thoughts. The only thing she knew for certain was that she would accept him without a second thought, if he proposed to her. And she very much liked to think – although she was not so bold as to declare it an absolute truth – that he was inclined to do so.

But it was not to happen. Her childish hopes came tumbling down and shattering mercilessly like glass when, all of a sudden, she saw him dancing with Anna, looking at Anna in a way he had never looked at her, and which left her both embarrassed for them and quaking with jealousy. She could not breathe— she must stop dancing – her heart would burst from her chest if she did not. She desperately tried to hold back tears, but they moistened her eyes and blurred the room regardless. She felt dizzy. She whirled around and into hiding when her partner finally let go of her, and she feared she would suddenly collapse with the lack of support. No one must see her tears. Her heart throbbed like a living thing torn to shreds. The pain was unendurable. Still, she wanted to look at him, to understand – had she failed to recognize all the signs? Had he played with her? Her bottom lip trembled. He had seemed so honest. She would not have supposed he could love her otherwise. But she could not see him. She would only humiliate herself further. She had attempted to intrude into something that was consuming beyond distraction – the strange bond he and Anna had forged, in a second, it seemed, beyond her comprehension. He would not look back for her. The entrancement he had shown –that the two had shown – was perturbing. They both knew things she did not. She was only a foolish girl. No match for either of them.

She attempted to calm herself, to blink back her tears and ease her pounding heart. After this ball, she did not want to see anyone. She would never be able to look at anyone again.


	5. Anna 2

_Anna _

The contours and edges of the room blurred. She felt like she had just awakened from a troubled, drug-induced sleep, even though she had been conscious for hours. It had taken her just as many hours to have the courage to ask to see her little girl, but now here she was, deposited safely in her arms. She stared down at her. She was silent, oddly so, for a newborn infant, but then, as though reading her thoughts, she began to whimper faintly.

She looked at her and could only feel strangeness. She did not feel the baby as truly her own, decidedly not like Seryozha, even though she shared her name and had come from her womb just the same. Perhaps it had been the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy, the agony and agitation of the months she had carried her. Perhaps that was why her mother's love would be forever denied to the little girl. Or perhaps she would still grow to love her. As soon as she got better, as soon as she grew stronger. Perhaps.

She gingerly fingered the baby's teeny hand. It moved and brushed hers back, but it was not a conscious touch, not a return of her caress. She was disappointed, and her heart cooled further. A pain she could not place burst from her chest and seemed to split her in two. She called the nurse; Annie was removed from her arms. She looked on helplessly as the nurse carried the baby back to the nursery. _I wish I could be better for you. _Perhaps what hurt was the knowledge that her life circumstances had ensured that she never would be.


	6. Karenin

_Karenin _

It was a frightening and unfamiliar thing, to feel utterly consumed by anger, ravaged until there was nothing left. Dignity, poise, strength, mercy... all were gone. There was only his heart thumping madly in his breast, startled into overwork, surely never having known a strain such as this.

He had been a fool to entertain gentler feelings towards her. An utter fool for allowing himself to be manipulated like this, like a lovesick, mindless school boy. How unpardonably naive of him. He ought to know better. No, the situation was beyond remedy now. She would not get another chance from him. She had chosen to be lost. He could not force her to let go of her choice. She was her own mistress. But he also had a choice, and he vowed that he would not be moved or charmed by her again. He would not tell himself that she might consent to live as his wife again and perhaps find some happiness in it. He would protect his son from her nefarious influence – she might destroy herself, but by God, she would not drag Seryozha down with her.

He could almost have shed tears for the carelessness with which his kindness and goodwill had been discarded. He had truly thought her to be a different sort of person. She had always been so compassionate to others. She was not obliged to love him, he had never imposed that upon her, but he had believed her to recognize and appreciate his attempts to do well by her. He had been a simpleton. But he would not be made a fool of twice. No matter how much she cried, begged and pleaded, even if she knelt at his feet – he would not go back on his decision.

He would never again succumb to any feelings, or what was worse, the hope of any feelings, for and from her.


	7. Oblonsky

_Oblonsky _

He puffed on his cigar, staring at the night ahead with dead eyes. Anna had died a few weeks ago, but still he could not forget. The pain remained etched upon his chest, as fresh as an open wound. He had never thought he would lose her like this. She had always been the sensible one of the two – he had always believed he would go first, poisoned by a life of foolishness and debauchery. He had not become any better and she still had gone before him. It was all very unfair.

Tears glimmered in his eyes, but he did not bother to disguise them. No one was watching, anyway. Sadness did not sit well with him. He was a cheerful man, unaccustomed and unwilling to succumb to the darkness of life. But it was impossible to be sanguine about this. He had lost his sister, his only sibling. It made him realize how he had taken her for granted so many times – he had always loved her, but now he saw how he had always believed she would be there, and, because of that, he had greatly skimped on his duties as a brother. If he had known, he would have tried to reach out – with a kiss, a word, a look. If he had but suspected how her life would have turned out... she surely had needed his support and he had done nothing. And now it was too late.

New tears dripped on his cigar. Inside, he heard the genial voices of Dolly and his family. He must return to them. They were his only hope now. But not yet. Not while he still felt so broken and so cheerless. Not yet.


	8. Vronsky

_Vronsky _

She was gone.

She was gone and he could not yet wrap his head around the fact that he was alone.

He still could not believe it. He had never thought she might have the madness or the courage to end everything the way she had. Perhaps he just envied her. But he also despised her for leaving him directionless, guilty of something he refused to feel guilt about. And God, the child – whatever was he supposed to do now? What was it that they expected of him? What had she been thinking of, to leave him alone with their daughter? Had she wanted to punish him? Had she truly expected that he would be able to be a good father, the only parent, in her absence? He hated it—hated that he had lost her, that she might be laughing at him, wherever she was now, that she had ended everything so brutally and left their child with him for something as petty as revenge. Had she believed that he would love her more for this?

No, no, she had not thought things through, and now he was the one to pay for it. And yet, if she asked him one more time if he loved her, the truth was that he could not say. He had never been able to say for certain. He just knew that he needed her, that he wanted her with him, regardless of what she felt and did, perhaps due to stubbornness, or pride, or the morbid, selfish obsession his mother had accused him of. He had never dreamed that things could have ended like this, but perhaps he should have seen it coming.

He could not maintain the life he had been leading. He did not want to, and it was impossible even if he did. There was not enough strength in him. Not enough fortitude. He could not raise his daughter alone. The effort was beyond him, the pain and his confusion crippled him. There must be a way – a way so she would not burden him and he would not ruin her. He would not do well by her. She would be better off with someone else.

Death was suddenly more appealing than ever. Would he share Anna's courage? Could he defy her one last time? Through what means— and when?

He poured himself another glass of whisky, wishing to numb himself further until even thinking became too much. He longed for it – the feeling of a heavy head, sinking like lead in the sea until he could lie down and forget. Perhaps he would sleep – a blessed thing he had been lacking since her death.

He hoped. He was no longer interested in facing life. He no longer wanted to live with his weakness and the blood of a broken life and shattered prospects in his hands. There was nothing else for him. God, if only he had resisted. If only he had thought twice, refused her and his own urges, he would never have found himself entangled in this vile state of affairs. But it was too late, far too late.

There was nothing left for him.


End file.
